Prelude to Oblivion
by eidolondestroyer
Summary: I believe darkness sleeps in every heart, no matter how pure." Ansem spoke those words in his report, and as the future creator of the Heartless tries to save his world from the darkness, he discovers their truth.
1. Volume I

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts. It's that simple.

            Ansem walked nervously from side to side. His steps echoed loudly throughout the sheer emptiness of the chapel, and as he heard each echo he flinched slightly at the sound before continuing to walk. Lines composed of anxiety were etched into his face, and the sweat running down his forehead dipped into each of the miniature fissures the lines created before slipping out again. He looked around the room, a look of panic on his face. Today it would happen. He had been caught unprepared and unaware, yet still he wound up being the deciding force in the matter. How would they react? Would they understand? Of course they wouldn't, the role of society was to play the devil's advocate to the person who dominated them. A natural instinct of the oppressed, to rise over the oppressor. And Ansem, despite all the freedoms he had granted his people, despite all the great things he had done for them, was the oppressor. Nothing would change that, nothing except the lack of a ruling force, and then anarchy and chaos would ensue, and Ansem would not let that happen again.

            Ansem could easily remember the days in which he rose to become the benevolent king of Hollow Bastion. Over two hundred years ago the ruler had been assassinated, and Hollow Bastion had suffered the consequences. Endless rebellion and endless uprisings plagued the world, and it had slipped into darkness. Then Ansem had come, and he ascended to power, replacing the king, and the people, too conceited to realize the service Ansem had done them, had hated him at first. Eventually the hatred subsided, but the fragments of the memories that had gone unnoticed, they had never faded. And now Ansem was about to make an unpopular decision, and those fragments would piece themselves together again, and once more Ansem would face the people's eternal thirst for the ultimate freedom, even at the price of chaos, oblivion, and, above all, darkness.

            Ansem finally managed to stop his pacing, and he brought his hand to his forehead, wiping away some of the moisture before running his hand through his platinum hair. His hand then dropped to his side and he sighed to himself, listening as even the whisper of a sigh he emitted echoed clearly through the chapel. Even the most minute of sounds would create such seemingly loud echoes in the chapel, where Ansem would always go, seeking refuge and a temporary lull in the maelstrom that was his life. When he stepped out the storm would rage back to life, and it was all due to circumstances he had no control over, yet still had to act upon. His choice was unpopular, but he put his people before himself, and his "choice" was the only option that benefited the people.

            Death had become nearly non-existent six years ago, when Ansem first took the throne. Famines had faded into obscurity, and vast medical leaps under his hand had temporarily destroyed death of old age. The idea of assassination and murder had also quietly disappeared, at least until now. Two months, two months of fear as a man who had long lost his lucidity bent and warped the ideals of life, arbitrarily taking life and leading people to an unnatural end. Finally they had caught him, with eighty-one dead, and a painful reminder of their past on the man's shoulders. And then the people had witnessed it. The killer, the bringer of fear, the man who sought to sow the seeds of darkness once more, hadn't understood what he was doing. He had been confused, merely seeking to dispel the shadows that crept and lurked through his mind. The most villainous of men had been the most innocent.

            And that was where Ansem's problem began. The people wouldn't understand. They would revolt at his decision, for what better opportunity would there be to eliminate the oppressor? His decision, the only decision that he could make, was the one they would never accept. They would have their justification, but Ansem knew all too well that it was the instinct innate within them. It was the instinct that forsook rulers and left no hope to them. The people's eyes would constantly bore into the ruler, watching for the misstep, watching for that fatal flaw. Being ruler of the world involved being in a constant dance, endlessly attempting to keep up with the lead, the people, but always failing, for the more the ruler tried, the faster the people went. The more freedoms the ruler gave his people, and the more complex the steps became. The more a ruler oppressed his people, the more they sought to get him to step on their toes, or simply fall, and inevitably the people would cause their ruler's fall, and then a new ruler would step in, attempting to follow the frenzied pace his people set.

            Ansem sighed once more before beginning to walk again, this time out of his castle and his isolation, the precious isolation which he valued so much, for in isolation there was no criticism, no condemnation, no damnation. There were no people to curse him, to seek ways to, if only for a while, and at the highest of prices, sate that eternal thirst for the ultimate freedom.

            Ansem stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the plaza, and he was forced to adopt an expression of apathy. Any emotion and they would see him as weak, and they would prey on his weakness. Only through that lack of emotion, the disinterest towards all, where concepts such as love and hatred did not exist, could he command the respect he had worked so long to gain.

            The people were there, crowding the plaza with barely an inch of space between people. Near the center of the plaza the mob opened up to reveal three men. One was writhing desperately, a look of panic across his face, and beneath that confusion. He still remained ignorant to the world around him. He was living in his own world, void of anything else but darkness.

            Another man in the center of the plaza was holding him firmly, and despite the writhing of the man he held, he barely seemed to be making effort. And the final man, meanwhile, had leveled a blade at his throat, holding the hilt of the sword steadily. If his hands wavered even a bit, the injury to the killer would be nothing less than fatal. He was the man who looked most intently at Ansem, waiting for the signal. Ansem closed his eyes, not just to think with more clarity, but also to avoid the gaze of the people. They called for the killer's survival, to merely have him locked away where he could do no harm. The innocent didn't deserve to die, and while his hands were stained with blood, his mind was free of taint. Ansem mused on that thought for a second. Was it truly more merciful to isolate a man for the rest of his life? But, as far as the people were concerned, killing him would be as arbitrary as the killings that had once more instilled fear within them.

            Ansem brought his hand up, and a deathly silence blanketed the area. Everyone watched Ansem as he prepared to make the motion with his fingers. It was a motion that Ansem had only used once, six years ago, when he had called for the execution of a single man, chosen randomly from the rebellion, to prove once and for all his power. When he had performed it, the motion and the power with it had seemed foreign, but now it would come naturally.

            Ansem's fingers twitched, and just as he was about to make his signal, a thought struck him. It was sheer brilliance. The people could have what they wanted, and Ansem could continue to help them and aid them, aiding in the unceasing fight of darkness. He smiled faintly, the curve on his lips too small for the people below to see, which was good.

            Ansem made a quick motion with his fingers before turning around and walking back into his peaceful isolation. The people cheered as the killer was dragged away, and Ansem did not need to see the people to know the smiles that were on their faces.

_Ansem Report, Vol. I, unabridged_

_            I am writing down this journal to record my observations during my latest experiment. I am keeping two versions, one that the common man might see, filled with the scientific data he craves. Within this version, however, I shall pen my innermost thoughts, which become obscured and irrelevant throughout time. As such, this journal shall be my personal copy, a window to the time that passed by as I continue my experiments. None of this opinion shall be present within the other journal, for the only unchanging invariable throughout time is data. Even this introduction will not survive the transition, for it is personal musing with no relevance. Only fact shall appear, and what can be disputed as fiction will face annihilation._

_            Much of my life has been dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. Knowledge is the very essence of being, and without it we live in true oblivion, for we are ignorant and unaware. With knowledge, however, we can gain the understanding we desire and, more importantly, need. Through such understanding we can escape the oblivion we are mired in, for we become aware. But, without knowledge, no such understanding can occur, for one who knows nothing can understand nothing._

_            Fortunately, I have been able to gain enough knowledge through the years as a ruler to understand the basic machinations of life. That knowledge has guarded this world well. Not a soul doubts that, as doing so is the apex of foolishness. Through the grateful nature I have instilled within my people, I have been thanked and blessed for my guidance with their smiles and respect, and those two things are my sole reason to further pursue motivation, but is there a truly better motivation? For my people, I shall gain the wisdom needed to further assist them._

_            But, though I am called a sage, there are things I do not understand. A multitude of things really, but there is one thing in particular, an area where the answers continue to elude me, eternally escaping my grasp. And this is darkness, a thing that I had thought had disappeared from this world. Recent events have led me to new beliefs though. I believe that darkness sleeps in every heart, no matter how pure. A perfect example of this would be a crazed madman who was recently stopped. His heart was supposedly without darkness, but a tiny seed of darkness had planted itself and slowly sprouted, culminating in the recent tragic events which will, through time, be irrelevant. However, given this example, perhaps only one of many in the years to come, I have come to believe that, given the chance, even the smallest drop of darkness can spread and swallow the heart. I have witnessed it many times before I became ruler of this world. The supposed saviors of the land turned upon it, spilling the blood of each other and the bystanders who merely wanted to survive long enough to see the restoration of harmony to the land. For twenty-six years I watched the struggle, and no person involved in that power struggle could resist the darkness. Even the best of men were swallowed by it, and they turned to darkness._

_            Darkness…_

_            Darkness of the heart._

_            How is it born? How does it come to affect us? As ruler of this world, I must find the answers._

_            I must find them before this world is lost to those taken by the darkness._

_End volume I._

**Author's Note**- And there you have it, chapter one. Tell me what you think in a review. In other words, please review! I only need one review, and that will tell me that someone is reading this. That's enough to get me to continue. And remember, constructive criticism is never a bad thing, so long as it does not run along the lines of "prufe reed pleze". That is all.


	2. Volume II Part I

Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts.

            The atmosphere of the dungeons within Hollow Bastion was by and large oppressive, just as it should have been. Those who entered its depths immediately understood that the relative liberties of the surface world vanished the second that the steel doors separating the dungeons from the outside closed. Inside the only source of light were dim candles, many of which had melted entirely long ago and needed to be replaced. Those candles that were alight cast long shadows upon the walls, and as the flames flickered the shadows seemed to dance, taunting the prisoners who lived only for the purpose of not dying. The public just wouldn't like it if a prisoner were to die through neglect or execution.

            The cells of the dungeons drove home the idea of oppression to any whose will was strong enough to stay aloft even after observing the dismal confines. They were made to be economical and beyond destruction, and most of all they were made to isolate. The cells had been carved from the stone walls of Hollow Bastion's subterranean world so that the walls dividing the cells were stone. The walls did not echo and amplify noise like some walls, especially walls of stone, tended to do, but instead muffled any and all sounds. The end result was that so long as a prisoner remained within his cell, he could neither see nor hear anyone except himself and the wardens who brought the food or ordered the prisoners to sleep and other such commands that were needed so that prisoners didn't die, or, perhaps worse, go insane.

            Of course, any efforts to maintain full sanity within the prisoners were a vain effort. It took only a matter of days before madness set in and reality was contorted within the minds of the prisoners. It was not, however, a raving madness, but instead a resigned madness. An insanity that allowed for the knowledge that any and all attempts at escape were futile gestures, meaningless and unsuccessful without exception. In their insanity the prisoners came to realize that the only person in the world their mind had created was themselves, and the only other living beings were the wardens, the demons that refused to let them die. If there was no one else, there was obviously no point in crying out, for who would hear them?

            Nobody. Nobody transcended all other things, and became an entity all in its own. Nobody was the only thing that truly existed in their lives. Nobody could hear them, Nobody could see them. Nobody could care about them. They themselves slowly became Nobody, as through time knowledge of whom they were, why they lived, and their very essence slipped from their minds, fading into oblivion and lost for all eternity. While the public would be outraged if they ever came to learn of these conditions within the dungeons, and by proxy Ansem cared if they ever learned of the conditions, the wardens could care less. The mindset made their jobs that much easier, for it was incredibly easy to control prisoners whose will had been broken, or more accurately, whose will had become nonexistent.

            Yet one prisoner had resisted this overwhelming oppression, and Ansem could only sigh in exasperation as he watched the most recent addition to the collection of fugitives struggle against his chains. The other prisoners didn't even need chains, they merely sat quietly, doing what was necessary to survive and awaiting the day that they could be pardoned of their crimes, not that they ever could be pardoned, for no one could learn of the workings of the dungeon. This prisoner, however, was no longer in a state of mind to be considered capable of understanding his circumstances. He was not so much a human being anymore but instead an animal, giving in to bestial instincts that had allowed him to survive. At the moment, his instincts told him to try and escape, to regain the freedom he had once known. Yet Ansem could not let him have such freedom, not until he was lucid once more, and even then Ansem would not be finished with this wretched soul.

            As the prisoner struggled, the wardens had begun to take note, and had continually prodded him with their spears, and the prisoner had been cut hundreds of times, but they were all shallow cuts that failed to do so much as draw blood. More importantly, they failed to stop the prisoner's struggles. He continued the futile resistance, somehow believing that eventually the chains would come off. But even then, what could he do? One-inch diameter steel bars separated him from a tiny cell and the hallways of an impregnable dungeon. Ansem could have knocked him out long ago, and hence stopped this pathetic resistance, but he had really been quite fascinated by the prisoner. He was fascinated by the continued struggle, despite no chance of escape. Was it truly born from madness, or was it born from somewhere else? Did it come from the mind, or from the heart? Could it be that, with the logic of his mind unable to override the impulses of the heart due to insanity, the heart's indomitable urge for freedom went unchecked? Perhaps it was possible, and in his studies of the heart, Ansem would have to look into it.

            In the meantime however, Ansem had more important things to do, and he had spent far too much time pondering the actions of those who couldn't even realize their actions. With a single wave of his hand he dismissed the wardens, who obediently walked out of the halls, more than happy to leave behind the depressing atmosphere of the prison.

            After the wardens had all gone a lone figure stepped out of the shadows. It was wearing a cloak that concealed all of its features, but it wore the cloak not to disguise itself from Ansem, who knew full well everything about his contact, but instead to blend with the shadows. It was dark enough in the prisons to become invisible when wearing the right attire, something Ansem capitalized upon for this meeting.

            When the figure came close enough to Ansem it produced an object from within its cloak. It was a dagger that had been imbued with powerful magic. The blade was, appropriately enough, made from onyx, with runes carved into the blade. It was a rather prized possession, an artifact from some ancient war that Ansem cared not for. The blades were outlawed for their abilities, but they were sold on the black market with a value upwards of five million munny. This particular black marketer, whom Ansem had dealt with numerous times, had demanded ten million, but the blade Ansem was getting was a rather special one. Most of the blades had the devastating effect of obliterating the soul within the body, making a single cut a fatal wound. This blade, however, had been modified at Ansem's request. It had probably taken hundreds of hours from the best of mages to do it, but the blade had been customized and Ansem was willing to pay the price for it. Instead of affecting the soul, it would affect the heart. Also, in opposition to destroying the heart, it would instead extract the two key elements within it, light and darkness. Of course, the knife would have to pierce the heart, and the stab wound would likely be fatal anyway, but that was of no matter. Once the darkness was removed from the prisoner's heart, he was no longer of use.

            Ansem reached tentatively for the blade, his hand shaking somewhat as he looked at the dark creation. Then he quickly reached out and took the blade before examining it closely. The object felt rather heavy, not in his hands but in his heart. He somehow felt like he would sink into the ground, it was so heavy. Ignoring that, he motioned for the black marketer to leave, and within seconds he was standing alone, admiring the wonderfully cut blade. Each rune was perfectly carved, and the blade's edge was so thin it was almost impossible to perceive. Perfection had obviously been in mind during the dagger's creation, and perfection had been achieved.

            Ansem then began to walk towards the prisoner, smiling triumphantly. He had all the means to complete his experiments, to find out once and for all how to save his people from the darkness. Every step he took was another step towards his ultimate goal, and soon he would have become the final salvation of his people.

            Upon reaching the cell door, Ansem hesitantly unlocked it and even more hesitantly opened it, taking several minutes to do so. He did not fear the prisoner attacking him, as the chains showed no signs of breaking and they bound him completely to the wall. Instead, he feared the consequences of his actions. Salvation came at high cost, and Ansem did not want the cost to be paid by him.

            Ansem began taking tiny steps towards the prisoner, and as he came closer, the prisoner, curiously enough, stopped struggling. Instead, he eyed the dagger Ansem held, watching it come closer and closer. Finally Ansem's stood a mere foot from the prisoner, and the two stared each other in the eye. Ironically, within Ansem's eyes there was fear, and in the prisoner's eyes there was mere resignation, or perhaps contentment. He knew Ansem's intentions, in all his insanity he had found one small spark of lucidity, and he had used it to realize what was going on. He knew that in death, he would be free. Free from the shackles that bound him in imprisonment, and free from the shackles of his mind.

            It would be impossible to put into words what happened in the dungeons of Hollow Bastion, but either way the prisoner was left dead, an elaborate façade created to make it look like suicide, and Ansem left the dungeons with darkness in his dagger and darkness in his heart.


End file.
